


Strength

by TightropeFlea



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, I Haven't Written a Fanfic in Years, One Shot, Please don't mind my drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TightropeFlea/pseuds/TightropeFlea
Summary: It was natural, a holdover from the days of GTOs and shared camels under the bleachers. It was comforting, having Jim Hopper in her life again after so many years away. Jim and Joyce: partners in crime, saving their small world together.~AKA Fondly remembering that time in Season 1 when Jim told Jonathan that his mom was tough.





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one for a few days now, and I figured it was finally time for me to put on the finishing touches and let it out into the world of AO3 before I lost my nerve! 
> 
> I haven't written anything for an existing universe with pre-existing characters since I was 12 years old. But here I am, a sappy adult, pining over Joyce and Jim Hopper and how much they casually love each other. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Thanks Jopper-Chopper on Tumblr for reading my dumb dialogue and convincing me to post the rest!

The companionable silence of the Byers home was broken by a shatter in the early morning.

 

“Shit!” Joyce hissed through her teeth, crouching over the ceramic mess that was once a stack of plates. All it had taken was one wrong step when she was emptying the drying rack for all of them to come tumbling out of her arms. “ _Shit!_ ”

 

“Mom!” Jonathan swung into the room behind her. He paused for only a moment before crouching next to her and putting careful hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

 

“Oh, _shit_ \- I’m sorry, Jonathan, I just. I wasn’t paying attention, I relaxed my arm for _one second._ One second, and--”

 

“--They’re just plates, it’s fine.”

 

They stood together, Jonathan only releasing her from his gentle hold once he knew she wasn’t about to bend down and start picking up the pieces with her hands. That was just Joyce's way to throw herself into fixing a problem without worrying about herself. They may have been bought on clearance and starting to fade, but the plates were the only matching set that they owned.

 

“I’ll get the broom,” he offered, moving quickly to the other side of their too-small kitchen to grab it.

 

“No no, honey, it’s okay.” Joyce said, reaching her hand out to grab it from him. Jonathan let her take it without argument, stepping back over the matching set of shrapnel on the floor. “I’m the one who made the mess, and you’re going to be late. _Damnit._ ”

 

“It’ll be alright, mom. We can pick up some new ones.”

 

“I know. I know, sweetie, I’m sorry. It’s just.” She huffed in irritation over the clinking of the once-plates. Joyce was careful to stay out of harm’s way, weakly wishing that she had put her shoes on before coming in to try to clean the mess from the night before. It had seemed like an easy job; Will had spent the night at the Wheelers' and so it had been one less set of things to clean. “I’m not even strong enough to carry a stack of dishes without screwing it up,”

 

“You’re really strong, mom. Even Hopper says so.” Jonathan said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He was halfway through his own morning process - patting all of his pockets to silently affirm that _he_ was not forgetting his keys or books or pencils either - before he looked up to see Joyce’s surprised face.

 

“What? Wait - Hopper said I’m _strong?_ ” She hated the lilt in her voice as the words left her.

 

“...Yeah?” Her son’s curious stare was so intent on her that it was only worsening her rising embarrassment. His eyes flicked to their phone and back. It was a look that she had seen hundreds of times before - usually when Jonathan was keeping a secret for Will.

 

Joyce suspected that this time, it wasn’t Will that he was covering for.

 

The silence extended between them, and only after a few seconds did Joyce realize that she had stopped sweeping.

 

“Well,” Jonathan said, breaking the quiet with the same awkward lack-of-grace that she had demonstrated with the dinnerware. “I’ve gotta get going, or. Late. I’m gonna be late.” He squeezed her shoulder twice - the customary Byers Goodbye. With hurried strides, he crossed the kitchen and into the hallway. He called back over his shoulder, seemingly happy to have any excuse to avoid the idea of his mother giddy about the chief of police. “Have a good day at work, mom!”

 

Before she could argue, the door slammed and she was alone with her thoughts.

 

\--------------

 

“Did you tell Jonathan that you think I'm strong?”  she blurted out later. The kids were inside, rowdy and distracted enough that the two of them could sneak outside for some cigarettes and a moment of peace. The words leave her mouth right as Hopper’s cigarette meets his.

 

“What?” His eyes darted to her in surprise, eyebrows furrowed the way hers did when she had been caught doing something wrong.

 

“Jonathan. He said earlier that…” _That what, Joyce? He doesn’t mean it in the way you want him to mean it._ Hastily, she took a shallow breath before gesturing blankly with her smoke. _“_ Y'know. You told him that I'm tough. Did you tell him that?”

 

“Yeah, well.” He turned to her then, pausing as though thinking hard. “Not recently. But you are.”

 

Joyce wanted to argue. She wanted to remind him that _he_ went to Vietnam, lost a child, and recovered. She wanted to tell him that she's far from the tough Joyce Horowitz that used to share his cigarettes. Lonnie had broken that Joyce. Instead she settled on,  “I don't know about that.”

 

“What're you talking about?” The words were so genuine that she dropped her gaze to her own cigarette, limply hanging from her two fingers as she tapped the ash away. He had a way of doing that, saying something dismissive in a tone that implied that it’s anything but. It warmed her more than her thin jacket. “Joyce. Hey.”

 

Hopper fell quiet then. She knew he was waiting for her to look up at him, but it still took her a few seconds to comply to the wordless request.

 

“You're one of the strongest people I've ever met.” When she still said nothing, he reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You went into - what does El they call it? The Upside Down? _Twice._ You went in there, gung-ho, ready to do whatever you needed to do. For Will, _and_ for me.” His arm jostled her gently, in a way that would have been playful if neither of them had felt the drastic shift in the mood of the night. “If that ain't strength, then I don't know what is.”

 

“I'm his mom, Hopper. Will is my son,  he's my responsibility.” Joyce leaned her weight against him. It was natural, a holdover from the days of GTOs and shared camels under the bleachers. It was comforting, having Jim Hopper in her life again after so many years away. Jim and Joyce: partners in crime, saving their small world together. The motion and easy way that he accepted her weight calmed her.

 

“So what does that make me? Am I your responsibility?”

 

“If I don't look after you, I think Flo would hunt me down.” she said dryly, letting herself be lulled by the sound of his heart beating - somehow _stronger_ now that it had been not a few minutes before. “ _Someone_ has to keep you from losing your stubborn head.”

 

“Yeah,” He chuckled underneath her weight, such a small movement jostling her. “She'd be lost without me.”

 

“All of us would.” Tilting her head up to look at him, Joyce rested her chin on his chest. She grinned, an attempt to tease the chief.

 

The look he flashed her was even more sly than she expected. His eyebrows raised, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he hid a smile under his beard. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They spoke no further. After a few moments, Joyce broke the contented look they shared so that she could press her ear to his side again. She felt more than saw his arm reach up, felt his chest expand with another deep breath before he exhaled. The smoke drifted around them effortlessly; the way he had pressed her to his side - and the way she stayed there.

**Author's Note:**

> If you grew up in the 80s, you know the plates that Joyce dropped. The heavy ones that had all the grey fork lines on them from overuse by little kid hands. They were probably starting to yellow and had some kind of decorative orange ring around the rim. She probably picked them up at a K-Mart in Indy with whatever money Lonnie didn't steal from their wedding gifts.


End file.
